


Lost Souls and Reveries

by Arcturis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel is a Winchester (Supernatural), Crying Jack Kline, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is a good brother, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hell, Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Has Issues, Jack Kline Gets a Hug, Jack Kline Has Powers, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, Jack Kline is a Winchester, Jack Needs a Hug, Lucifer (Supernatural) in the Cage, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), POV Jack Kline, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Hell, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Hell Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Protective Siblings, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester in Lucifer's Cage, Torture, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcturis/pseuds/Arcturis
Summary: In an attempt to wake Sam from a nightmare, Jack accidentally enters his mind and discovers why Sam fears the Devil.





	Lost Souls and Reveries

Jack wished he could sleep more often. He had seen so much, considering his youth and despite his power. He often wondered about the experiences of human children in their first years of life. What did they see? What were they exposed to? Surely it was far different from his own beginnings.

War.

Pain.

Death.

Palms pressed into eyelids as he tried to shut out the memories and focus on something more positive. How he wished for sleep, that blessed void without thought or memory. He rarely dreamed and sleep was a welcome reprieve from the world he found so difficult to live in. If Cas had been in the bunker, he would have passed time with the seraph, but Castiel was out on some angelic errand and wouldn’t be back for a few days. He looked at the clock and watched the glowing numbers herald 3:30 AM. Sam and Dean had gone to bed awhile back and even Sam wouldn’t be up for another few hours. He sighed.

Sudden emanations of pain and fear broke the monotony of Jack’s wait and he stood up swiftly, senses on alert and adrenaline running through his body. Was there an intruder? Who was the victim? He couldn’t hear any struggles or sounds of pain, but he listened harder. His senses were far more sharp than a human’s and he focused, remembering Sam’s lesson the previous day. _Don’t jump right into danger,_ he’d told the young nephilim. _Figure out your situation and then form your plan accordingly._ So he stood still and listened hard, hearing soft cries coming from down the hallway. It sounded like …

Sam.

Worried, Jack hurried down the hall, but stopped just outside of the bedroom door. He frowned in confusion, trying to make sense of the fact that Sam was, for all he could tell, sound asleep. If he was asleep, how was he in so much pain? Was he sick? His confusion grew as he heard Sam’s soft, strained voice. The words sounded Enochian. Sam knew Enochian?

His hand carefully turned the door handle. Jack was suddenly nervous, but he didn’t know why. He felt almost as though he were intruding on something intensely private and wondered if he should shut the door again and try to find some useful information in the library to present to the others in the morning. Sam uttered a choked, muted cry before pleading to some unseen entity for mercy and Jack walked in regardless of the trepidation he felt. He flicked the light on and saw Sam, bedding twisted tightly about his sweat-soaked body. His form was tense and looked painfully strained. Jack could trace every taut muscle with his eyes as the older man shifted around in the bed.

“Sam?” he called softly. “Sam, are you okay?”

But Sam didn’t respond and Jack wondered if he was dreaming. Although Jack didn’t dream often, he did occasionally see things in his sleep. Things he didn’t want to see. Castiel had called them nightmares and he wondered if that was what Sam was currently experiencing. Should he wake him up in that case? He felt the terror and agony rolling off of the man, heard his Enochian pleading and felt his resolve harden. Whatever Sam was seeing, he would obviously be better off waking up.

He walked around to the side of the bed and knelt down carefully. “Sam, wake up. I think you’re having a nightmare. You need to wake up!” His words got louder, but Sam gave no indication that Jack’s words had penetrated his sleeping state. The nephilim frowned and reached a hand out to shake the man’s arm, feeling how heated his skin was, but -

 

_____________________________________________________________

 

_Screams everywhere._

_Jack jumped up and whirled around in a panic. It was dark and he was surrounded by iron bars. Cracks of lightning erupted every few seconds from the deep red and black haze that he saw outside of the bars. He felt his breathing quicken and his heart was pounding in fear. There was an aura of evil and suffering here in quantities that surpassed anything he’d ever witnessed. Where was he? How had he gotten here?_

Wait.

_He heard Sam’s firm voice in his mind and focused on what he’d learned only days ago._

Listen. Think. Don’t jump into things. Assess the situation and figure out what’s going on before you act.

_Jack focused and realized his surroundings didn’t feel quite … real. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but this felt blended, like too much paint mixed together. It lacked the crystal clear quality of reality and he realized that, somehow, he must be in Sam’s mind._

_A deep breath expanded his lungs as his panic calmed. This wasn’t real and that made him feel better. He was safe. But as he turned around, that same breath caught in his chest and he stared in horror at the scene in front of him._

“ _Sam?” The name caught in his throat and he couldn’t quite force it out. He felt fear wash over him anew as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing._

_Sam Winchester was on his knees in the middle of this strange … cage, gasping for breath. His arms were painfully outstretched, cuffed and tightened with chains attached to the walls on either side of him. There were more chains punctured through his chest and abdomen, holding him to the walls. Blood from the wounds oozed along the cold, metal links, dripping lazily to the floor. His head was bowed, long hair covering his face as he gasped, shudders of agony running forcefully through his body._

_“Sam?” Jack tried again, but Sam was no more aware of his presence than when Jack had knelt beside his bed._

_A loud crack sounded and Jack jumped as a hoarse cry was ripped from Sam. His body jerked hard against the chains running through his form, earning another low moan of pain._

_“See, the best thing about the Cage, which I never appreciated in the past, is the fact that I can create_ anything _here! I’d be so limited topside. But here? For instance, I have to say, Sammy. The chains running though you are just … mmm. Delicious. It’s_ art! _”_

_Jack’s head snapped around and he realized there was another person in this hell with them, standing right behind Sam’s kneeling form. He had a short whip in his hands. What Jack had thought was a sharp crack of thunder must have been the sound of the device making harsh contact with Sam’s back. He saw blood drip off the cruelly corded tail and thought he might be sick._

_“If I had you topside, you’d have been a cold corpse by now. Instead you’re still up and kicking! I’m impressed, I have to say. You were my one true vessel so obviously you were sturdy, but this is so much more than I ever expected.”_

_One true vessel. Something about that stirred some memory in Jack, but it was hard to grasp with what he was witnessing. It was difficult to remember that this was merely a dream, that they were safe in the bunker, in Sam’s room while the man slept._

_He heard Sam whisper something, but it was difficult to make out what he was saying. The man must have heard, though, because Jack saw a flash of white as he grinned and threw the whip against Sam’s back. He seemed to revel in his victim’s scream and Jack tried to force himself to move, to help, but he was frozen with shock and horror._

_“You know what you have to do, Sammy.” The words were crooned. If Jack didn’t know better, he’d have said the words were spoken tenderly and with love. “I have so much I can offer you. This doesn’t all have to be bad, bunk buddy.”_

_Sam lifted his head and, although the hazel eyes were hazy and dilated with agony, they were alight with defiance and hatred. “Screw you,” he snarled and there was strength despite the hoarse strain tainting his voice. “I know what you’re offering, Lucifer. It’s not mercy. It’s not kindness. It’s just a fresh hell. A new torment.” He sagged and choked on moans of pain before shifting to right himself, trying to take as much pressure off of the chains in his torso as was possible. “So no. You can take your offer and shove it, because there’s no way in hell … oh_ wait!” _Sam laughed quietly, painfully. “I forgot, we’re already here.”_

_Jack felt himself grow colder as the glee on Lucifer’s face twisted into rage. He watched as the being - his_ father? _\- stalked to Sam’s front and crouched. His movements were slow, smooth and predatory and Jack was reminded of a tiger about to strike._

_“And who’s fault is that, Sam?” His voice had lost it’s psychotic delight. The words were low, a warning to tread carefully, but Sam was shaking his head as he looked the fallen angel in the eyes with a defiant, pain-stained smile._

_“It was my fault, letting you out in the first place. All my fault. But this? It was my_ pleasure.”

_Lucifer snarled, his hand striking out like a snake and suddenly he had Sam by the hair, wrenching him to the side so forcefully that his body, had it not been chained, would have been thrown to the floor. As it was, his form conflicted with his bonds, tearing at his wounds and he screamed._

_“Was this worth it?” Lucifer demanded. “All this pain and suffering? All you had to do was say yes! You’re facing an eternity at_ my hands!” _He jerked Sam the other way, the chains softly clinking under the sounds of their captive’s agony._

_“My penance.” The words were forced out at his chest heaved with uneven gasps. “This is my penance. I deserve this. For everything I’ve done, I deserve this and worse. This is my due. But you? You’re stuck here with me. You’re back where you belong and I’ll gladly suffer until the stars fail if it means you rot in the Cage for eternity.”_

_Lucifer howled in rage. His hand wrapped around Sam’s throat and squeezed cruelly. And as Sam choked and gasped and struggled, Jack found himself leaping towards them. “Stop it!” he shouted, angry, desperate and afraid. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”_

_He threw himself at his father, but the figure dissipated in smoke, leaving Jack to kneel down in front of his chained friend. “Sam?” he asked, blue eyes worried. “Sam, come on. It’s me, Jack.”_

_Sam struggled, forcing his head up. “What? Jack?” His words were sluggish and the confusion was evident through his pain._

_“Yes, it’s me. This isn’t real, Sam. You’re just dreaming.”_

_“That … that doesn’t make any sense. But I didn’t … I didn’t know you then. Jack, what’s going on?”_

_“Sam!”_

_They both jumped as Dean’s voice echoed faintly around them._

_“Sammy, come on, wake up!”_

_“Dean?” Sam whispered weakly, and then -_

 

_____________________________________________________________

 

Sam bolted upright, chest heaving as he backed against the headboard of his bed. Small sounds of fear leaked through his gasps as he felt _someone_ getting too close and a strangled cry left him before he could stop it.

“No, no more. Please. No!”

“Sam! Focus, man!”

It sounded like Dean and Sam so desperately needed this to be real but he was having a hard time focusing through the residual fear and panic.

“C’mon, Sammy. It was just a dream, it wasn’t real. Come back to me.”

Using his brother’s voice as a lifeline, reality bled through the static, piece by piece, until he saw the familiar emerald eyes brimming bright with concern. Clumsy, hurried steps tore his eyes from the comfort of Dean’s and he saw Jack rush out the door. He hesitated, just outside and Sam met the nephilim’s gaze, the residual gold fading from his guilt-ridden blue eyes. Then Jack was gone and Sam sagged against the headboard, trembling from the aftermath of memory.

“The hell happened?” Dean demanded. Sam flinched sharply and Dean sighed, gentling his voice. “I woke up to Jack shouting and rushed in here to find you screaming in Enochian and he’s there staring at nothing with those weird-ass gold eyes, and - “

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was quiet, but sharp, and shut his brother up effectively. “Just … just give me a minute, alright? _Please.”_

The older man deflated, pulling up a chair next to the bed. “How bad?” he asked quietly.

Sam was quiet a moment before responding. “Four, maybe five.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Gimme a drink first,” came the muttered response as Sam extricated himself from the tight knot of sheets with some difficulty. He hissed as his aching body stretched out into a standing position and he stalked towards the kitchen, knowing Dean was hurrying to catch up with him.

He strode towards the liquor cabinet, but Dean managed to get in front of him and pointed firmly at the table. “Sit.” Sam shifted in indecision for a moment before complying, letting his brother dole out the alcohol. Dean poured out two glasses of amber liquid and slid one into Sam’s waiting hand, waiting for him to down his glass before starting on his own. “Another?” he asked after a moment.

Sam rubbed his face with both hands and nodded silently. He heard Dean slide the glass towards him and sipped more slowly. Minutes passed in silence as they both attempted to settle their nerves. When Dean had finished his liquor, he set the glass down gently and asked “Can I?”

Sam shifted slightly in his seat. The idea of physical contact made him uneasy and skittish, but he stood up without a word, facing his brother and holding his arms out slightly from his body. Dean stood up, running his hands gently through Sam’s hair and slowly working his way down along his neck and shoulders. The exercise was twofold; he needed to assess Sam for any injury that might have occurred during the violent thrashing that tended to happen when Sam’s nightmares got bad, and it helped Sam reacquaint himself with the normalcy of physical contact. He noted several flinches as he ran his hands over his chest and stomach, but when he asked Sam if they were injuries, he shook his head. When he walked around to Sam’s back and placed his hands along his spine, Sam gasped out a panicked “No!” and darted out of the way.

“Easy, Sammy,” Dean murmured softly, slowing his movements. “You’re good, man. You’re safe, it’s just me.” There was conflict in Sam’s hazel eyes and his eyes kept darting to the exit out of the kitchen and Dean stopped where he was. “You need an Ativan?”

Sam’s eyes shut tightly, but he shook his head, moving a few steps away from the wall he had backed against so that Dean could continue. His older brother murmured softly to him as he replaced his hands on Sam’s back, noting the hard shudders wracking the younger man’s spine. He moved his hands down and frowned when the shuddering grew stronger and Sam emitted a nearly inaudible keen of distress.

Remembering his own time in Hell with Alistair, Dean took a long, deep breath and tried to keep the anger from his voice. “He flog you?” Sam nodded once, tightly, and Dean took another slow breath, fighting for calm. “Alright, Sammy. Shirt off.” Sam threw a hesitant, confused look over his shoulder, but Dean shook his head. “It’ll make sense, just take it off.” Sam frowned at him for another moment before peeling the sweat-soaked garment over his head and dropping it carelessly to the floor. He stood with his exposed back to Dean, shifting anxiously and trying to work through his panic.

“You’ve got no whip marks. You understand that, right? There’s nothing here. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream, a memory at best. All you’ve got is your hunting scars.”

Sam listened closely, trying to stay still, but his fear made him jittery, made his breathing shallow and uneven. He jumped, feeling the muscles in his back twitching madly as he felt Dean’s hands on his skin.

“This is real. You understand, Sammy? I’m real. _This_ air is real. There’s no sulfur or blood or scorch here. It’s just clean Kansas air.” He started tracing his hands along his brother’s back, kneading tight muscles or tracing the marks that marred his brother’s body. “There’s no sign of the Cage, no mark of Hell _._ Just honest hunting scars. Vamps, werewolves, ghouls. But no Lucifer. You hearing me?”

And Sam was hearing him. He understood the purpose of removing his shirt now, as the comfort of Dean’s warm hands was more reassuring and more grounding than nameless pressure through the cotton of his shirt. He felt himself start to relax, his body losing some of it’s distressed and agitated rigidity. The fear-ridden flinches and twitches of muscle began to calm and his breathing evened out as Dean continued, speaking quietly all the time. He felt Dean’s fingers probing along his ribs and he hissed in pain. Dean gently batted his arm aside to inspect the area, touches gentling.

“You’ve got some bruising here. You must have gotten that blanket around you pretty good.”

Sam just sighed but, as he grew calmer, he became aware of a lurking presence and he looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen entrance. “Jack?” he called gently. He heard the nephilim jump and scurry back towards his room and Sam sighed again. “You said he was shouting?” he asked Dean as his brother finished up his inspection. Dean made a noise of assent and Sam waited for him to expand but was met with silence. “Well what was he saying?”

“Dunno,” Dean said as he straightened. He handed Sam his glass of liquor and Sam sipped the remaining amber liquid. “You were both shouting in Enochian, but he sounded distressed, upset.”

Sam snorted softly. “Yeah, no kidding.” When Dean looked at him quizzically, he expanded. “He was there. In my mind. I don’t know how, I don’t even think it was intentional. It sort of felt like he stumbled in on accident. He was probably just trying to wake me up.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Did he … how much did he see?”

Sam’s face paled slightly and he took another sip. “I don’t know. But any of it would have been enough.”

“Well that’s going to be a fun conversation,” Dean grumbled as he poured himself another drink.

“I’ll handle it,” Sam said, finishing his drink and standing.

Dean looked hesitant. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’m the best person for it,” Sam replied dully. “Especially considering what he just witnessed.”

Dean couldn’t deny that, but he didn’t have to like it either. “Do you need anything? You gonna be okay?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll be fine.” He hesitated a moment before adding “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean merely sipped his alcohol, but Sam smiled faintly before walking out in search of Jack, whom he found in his bedroom with the door open. Sam knocked gently, staying just outside the room. “Jack? Can I come in?”

The nephilim had his back to Sam and was sitting on the edge of his bed. His back was unnaturally straight and the lines of his body were taut and unhappy.

“Jack, we need to talk.” Sam’s voice was soft and sad as he regarded the young man, not even two years old. He walked in, leaning back against the wall. The cool surface on his warm skin reminded him that he probably should have put on a fresh shirt, but that could wait. Jack hadn’t moved and Sam tried to find a way to get through to him. “Jack, I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish that detail of knowledge on anyone. Not Dean, not Cas, certainly not you. Are you alright?”

There was no response, but Jack’s shoulders had begun to tremble and Sam suspected he was fighting back tears. He took a step towards his charge but, before he could get to close, Jack had leapt off the bed and was backing towards the opposite wall. “Stay away from me!” he shouted, distress disguised as anger.

Sam’s brow raised in confusion as he stopped his advance. “Jack? What’s wrong?”

“Stop it. Just stop it! Why are you even trying to get close to me, just stay away from me!”

It took Sam a moment but, when he understood, he felt his heart break. “You’re not him,” he said quietly, taking a slow step forward. “Do you understand that? _You’re not him._ ”

“I’m his _son,_ ” Jack said with fervent hopelessness. “I’m … Sam, I’m an _abomination_.” He crumpled to the floor and buried his head in his knees as he shook with silent sobs.

The word brought up unpleasant memories for Sam and he felt his skin crawl as he closed his eyes painfully. Slowly, carefully, he knelt down in front of Jack, grasping his shoulders and ignoring the way the boy flinched and tried to squirm away. “Stop. Jack, _stop._ You’re not an abomination. I never want to hear that again, understand?” Jack started to protest through his tears, but Sam was firm. “You’re not. Don’t listen to that voice. You might be his blood relation, but you are _not Lucifer._ You can’t help being his son. Sometimes things just are and no matter how much we hate it, we can’t do anything about it. Just like I can’t help being infected with demon blood.”

Jack’s shocked eyes rose and Sam smiled sadly. “Preparation for Lucifer’s ‘perfect vessel’,” he explained quietly. “Do you think that makes me an abomination?”

“What? No! Sam, of course not!”

Sam released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and felt indescribable relief at Jack’s protest. “Then why do you think you are? If I’m not an abomination, neither are you. Sometimes things happen to good people. Things they can’t help. It’s not your fault, Jack.”

“But … “ Jack’s face was ashen. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to see. It was an accident. I was just trying to wake you up.”

“I know,” Sam said quietly. “I’m not angry. I’m just … sad. That’s something I never wanted you to see.” He pulled Jack against him and the nephilim boy crumpled into his side, tears dripping down Sam’s shoulder as he cried helplessly. The older man held the younger close. He understood. He knew the turmoil and the black, violent shame Jack felt. They both had connections to Lucifer that no one else could possibly understand. Everything Jack was feeling, Sam had felt upon revelation of the destiny both Heaven and Hell had forced upon him. That knowledge had sent him reeling down a path of shame, isolation, addiction and darkness and he’d be damned if he let Jack fall down that same road.

He held Jack tighter and smiled faintly as he felt him start to relax. “Lucifer might be blood, but he’s not family Jack. But we are, if you’ll have us. Cas, Dean, me. We all want you here. We all love you. Your lineage doesn’t matter to us. You’re not him. I promise you that you’re not him and I promise that we know that.”

Jack took a deep shuddering breath and nodded. “My mom said Cas would take care of me. I don’t think she knew you would too. You and Dean.”

“Of course we will,” Sam murmured, fingers trailing soothingly through Jack’s blonde hair. “You’re family, Jack. We protect our own.”

And in Sam’s embrace, Jack finally slept. His even breaths against Sam’s body were a boon against the residual cold and pain of his dreams and he was content to sit against the wall and hold the remarkable being that had become the newest addition to their motley family. When Dean came looking, he smiled at the oddly paternal sight of his brother cradling the nephilim.

“I’m going to bed,” he said quietly. “You need anything?”

Sam shook his head tiredly, stance easy and relaxed. Dean walked over and squeezed his shoulder before tugging Jack’s blanket off the bed and slinging it carefully over his brother and the newest Winchester before walking back to his room. The three men slept, safe in the security of their family bunker.


End file.
